The Sun Room
by stranded chess piece
Summary: After failing in their attempt to take some time out, the brothers decide to investigate a supposedly haunted building in a small town, and Sam finds something quite unexpected. Set very early S3. Rated mainly for language. Limp Sam.
1. Chapter 1

_I have a little time up my sleeve so I thought I'd start this, even though I have no idea if I'll get to finish it. It wont be very long. I guess it's AU, seeing as I haven't seen much of S3. I guess general spoiler warnings apply, just in case. It's a bit more relaxed than what I usually write. I thought I'd attempt something (slightly) more...erm... light-hearted :) Maybe. I'll see how I go anyway!_

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

The boys were holed up in what Sam considered 'just another nameless small town.' For some unknown reason, Dean had insisted they take a break, and, seeing as they were passing through said nameless small town, Dean had decided it was as good a place as any to find a room. He'd pulled them off the road, waving away Sam's suspicious gaze, and had booked them into what was possibly the most unattractive motel Sam had ever seen. Sam had stood outside the door, staring into a room that smelled of mould. He'd asked why in God's name Dean had felt it necessary to pick here.

But Dean, already making himself at home and unloading the contents of his bag onto one of the beds, had simply shrugged and rolled his shoulders. "Why not?"

That first afternoon, they took a walk along the main street. Pokey shops cluttered against one another, most of their windows bare. There was a milk bar, a burger joint, a butcher, and a firearms store. There was a colourful bakery with flashing lights, outdoor tables- despite the cold- and a footpath sign that yelled: PIE. Dean insisted they go in, and purchased two slices of something unbelievably greasy-looking. Sam sat as far back as he could from his sibling, refusing the offer of food and focusing instead on a handful of locals wandering the street. Such a dismally boring place, with not a bar in sight; Sam couldn't help but wonder whether perhaps Dean had come down with something. He asked if Dean was alright.

But Dean was fine, and stood, announcing that he was going to order more pie. "You need to lighten up, Sammy," he called over his shoulder as he made his way back towards the shop door. "And for God's sake, eat something. You look like shit."

Sam threw a look after his brother, but didn't reply. Of course he looked like shit. He hadn't slept well or eaten properly since Dean had started to die, which was going on six weeks now. Hell, Sam barely even felt alive. He was existing, riddled with nightmarish anxiety, and holding on to his sanity by less than a thread. Dean instructing him to 'lighten up' was definitely _not_ what he needed to hear. He scrubbed a hand over puffy eyes and chewed on his lip, wondering whether there was a library around. Pushing his chair back, he resolved to find out.

Dean wasn't happy. "You need to stop, Sam. That's why we're here. We needa break." The fresh slice of pie slopped on the table.

Sam ignored him and made a move to cross the street. "I'll see you back at the motel."

Dean's eyes burned into his back, but the older made no move to follow him.

Sam completely missed the flicker of worry glance his sibling's features as he walked away. He was too focused on continuing his research into demons and God-damned deals to care.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The library was a waste of space. Sam barely found anything useful there. Frustrated, he resorted to sifting through the endless expanse of the internet, cringing at the sticky marks all over the computer's keyboard, battling with the mouse that appeared to only work when it felt like it. Four hours went by before the little old lady behind the desk asked him to leave. Sam glanced at the clock, eyes taking a moment to focus. Where had the afternoon gone? The sun had disappeared, and it was dinner time already. Trails of smoke wound their way from chimneys as he stalked back along the main street, the air thick with the smell of cooking and the moon beginning its slow ascent from behind the trees.

His stomach churned. The 'lack of answers' he'd come up with was grating on him. He'd been to college, for fuck's sake, he'd done assignments in less time than this. Surely he should have solved Dean's problem by now. Of course, it would help if Dean actually gave a shit. Lately, Sam swore, it was like he was working alone. Like Dean had accepted his imminent death. If they both worked on finding a solution together… well, the older brother would be in with more of a chance. Did Dean care so little for sticking around? It bothered Sam, no end.

Arriving back at the room, Sam found his sibling reclined on the bed. The television was on, and the laptop was set up on a small desk. Dean's eyebrow lifted, and he asked whether Sam was feeling better.

Sam rolled his eyes, pulling the door shut roughly. "I'm going to have a shower," he mumbled, heading towards the bathroom.

Dean was off the bed, rushing to block the way.

"What? Dean, move-"

Big brother shook his head. "We need to talk, Sam."

Sam went to push past, but Dean's arm came up and held him back.

"You're wearing yourself down. You need to stop, and eat something. I'm worried about you. God, have you looked in the mirror lately?"

Sam shook himself away. "I'm fine-"

"You're _not_."

Their eyes burned against one another.

Sam nervously licked his lips.

"Just take two days, that's all I'm asking," Dean pleaded. "Then we'll get out of here."

Sam wondered again whether Dean fully understood the weight of their situation.

"There's a roadhouse not far from here. Let's go get some dinner."

"You just ate three pieces of pie!"

"Well you're making me hungry with how little you're eating!"

There was a heavy moment of silence, before Sam reluctantly gave in. He wasn't hungry but if it would shut Dean up, he was willing to try anything. "Will you move so I can have a shower first?"

Something not quite a smile ghosted Dean's lips.

"That doesn't mean I want to stay here," Sam added. "I think we're wasting time."

Dean shot him a look.

Vanishing into the bathroom, Sam restrained himself from reminding his brother of the time bomb constantly ticking in their ears. Six weeks down; forty-six to go. Four hundred and sixty-three thousand, six hundred and eighty minutes had never seemed so short a time to Sam in all his life, until now.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The roadhouse was a happening place. A shabby pool table stood lonely and forgotten in a dingy corner, and an ancient duke box cranked out a medley of unrecognizable tunes. Sam squeezed a smile, nodding as they took a seat at a wobbly table. "You sure know how to pick 'em." They were the only patrons in the room.

Dean ignored the sarcasm, and flashed a smile towards a bearded man behind the bar, who waddled over, fumbling with a wad of paper and a pen.

"Evening, boys." The voice was thick and gruff, but the man's eyes were warm enough. "Just passing through, are we?"

Dean nodded. "We're just here for a couple of nights, thought we'd stop and _take a break_." He looked pointedly at Sam, who looked pointedly back. "Been on the road for a while now, so it's nice to stretch our legs."

The man regarded them suspiciously.

Sam wondered how Dean managed to make people wary, even when he was acting as normal as possible.

"You ain't here to poke around the old Witherson place, are you?"

Both brothers were sufficiently confused.

"Ah-" Dean furrowed his brow. "No. We just wanted to get some food. Why do you ask that?"

The man's suspicion withdrew slightly, though he continued to regard them in a hawk-like manner. Eventually he shook his head. "Never mind. Just thought I'd ask. Sometimes we get folk like you, young and crazy-"

Dean pulled a face.

"-Thinking they'll come have some fun, you know, usually high on something-"

Sam cocked an eyebrow, unable to decide whether he was offended or amused.

"-They head out to that old house just to see whether the rumours are true. Well-" He leaned forward to accentuate his point. "-I've been living here all my life and I ain't _ever_ seen or heard anything to say that old place is haunted. It's all just a load of garbage if you ask me."

Dean's expression shifted from confusion to plain curiosity. He went to open his mouth, but Sam cut him off.

"Well," Sam said calmly, employing the respectful tone he often used with strangers. "You needn't worry. We're not here for that. A haunted building, you say? I agree, it sounds ridiculous. No, my brother here insisted we come out to dinner, if you have any food available?"

The man nodded, accepting Sam's reasoning and placing a menu on the table.

Dean pinned his sibling with a look.

Sam flashed his dimples, knocking his boot against Dean's shin.

Big brother jumped. "Son of a-!"

The bar man narrowed his eyes at Dean, again regarding the older hunter with suspicion.

"I'll have a steak burger," Sam announced, pushing the menu towards his scowling sibling.

"Make that two," Dean growled, barely glancing at the options.

The man nodded, oblivious to the wordless conversation taking place before him.

Sam and Dean threw glares back and forth, having one of their infamous silent arguments.

As soon as he'd gone, big brother piped up. "What the hell did you kick me for?!"

Sam jabbed a finger. "Because I knew what you were thinking."

Dean threw up his hands, as if to say _Go on, tell me._

"You were going to ask more about that building."

Dean hesitated. "_No- _I wasn't."

But Sam had him sussed and nodded defiantly. "Yes you were. I could feel it."

"What, are you able to read my mind now?" Dean snorted and leaned over the table. "Tell me what I'm thinking then. Come on, what's going through my head?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Don't be an idiot."

"You started it."

Sam shook his head, unimpressed. "Just don't get any ideas, alright."

"About _what_, Sam? There's nothing to get ideas about."

But Sam could hear the cogs in his brother's mind working. As soon as the bar man had mentioned the rumours of a nearby haunting, Dean's radar had screamed, sparking his curiosity.

"We're here to _rest_, remember?" Sam told him. "You said it yourself."

"I didn't think you were keen on that idea," Dean teased, grabbing the salt shaker and swatting it around the table.

Sam watched as it bounced back and forth between his brother's steady hands. "I'm not," he admitted. "But I'm not keen on a hunt, either." His hand struck out, rescuing the shaker from its turmoil.

"Hey-" Dean was annoyed at having lost his toy.

Sam shook his head. "God, you're as bad as a little kid sometimes."

"And you're as anal as an old man. Give it back."

"Shut up."

"Shut up, yourself."

From where he stood behind the counter, the bearded man threw a troubled look their way.

"Yeah, pipe down, Dean," Sam chided.

Dean stole the shaker back. _Bitch_.

Sam pulled a subtle finger sign. _Jerk._

_Great_, Sam thought. _This is going to be an awfully long two days. _They were already driving each other nuts.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sam awoke with a start and scrubbed a hand across his face.

There was a snort from nearby. "Dribbling in your sleep, Sammy?"

Sam groggily spun around, fixing his brother with an unimpressed glare that clearly said _shut up_.

Dean passed by the chair Sam had fallen asleep in, slapping him affectionately upon the back. He pulled out another chair and sat facing his sibling, the amusement slowly fading from his face to be replaced with something a lot more serious. "You're having nightmares again." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

Sam opened his mouth to deny it, but Dean's no-nonsense expression stole his words. He settled for rolling his eyes and peeling himself from the chair instead, standing, stretching, and crossing the room into the tiny bathroom, leaning over the sink and twisting the tap. Cold water re-ignited his senses and he splashed it over his face.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Dean's voice was a vague sound in the distance.

Sam pressed a towel against his eyes, squeezing them tight and taking a deep breath. Eventually he spun around, and stalked back into the room. "No thankyou, I'm fine."

Dean laughed nervously, unconvinced. "Sure. That's what you always say."

Sam pulled a clean shirt from his bag and shook it in an attempt to eliminate the creases. He was having nightmares again, yes, but he'd be damned if he wanted to talk about them. Least of all to Dean; the protagonist in his dream-films that always ended with the older brother being dragged feet-first into the fiery pits of Hell. "Just drop it, okay. It's no big deal."

Dean bit his tongue, holding up a hand in surrender.

Sam silently berated himself for his careless choice of words. _No Big Deal. _Like hell it wasn't; it was eating him alive. He'd woken last night in a cold sweat, tangled in bed sheets and shaking from head to toe. He'd resorted to firing up the laptop and taking a seat at the small desk, preparing himself to do some research. His red-rimmed eyes had flicked between the computer screen and his peacefully sleeping brother, until about 4am, when he'd been snatched back into dreams. Thankfully, they'd been disjointed and only mildly disturbing; the type of sleep that hardly counts as rest. He'd woken with a crick in his neck from being positioned at such an odd angle, and that's when Dean had teased him about dribbling. Sam shot another glare at his brother, just for good measure.

"So," Dean said, his tone reflective of his agreement- albeit reluctant- to change the topic. "I've been thinking."

_Oh here we go_, Sam thought, massaging his temples and glancing at the clock. It was barely 9am.

"Maybe we _should_ look into that Witherson place? It'd give us something to do, could be a bit of fun?"

Sam gaped at the suggestion. "What the hell are you on about? I thought we agreed we were taking some time out?"

"Well,_ you've_ hardly stuck to that, have you?"

Sam pulled a face.

"Don't give me that look. I know you were doing more research last night. I turned the laptop off this morning when I found you zonked out in front of it."

"That's different."

"No, it's not, Sam." Dean's words were firm. "Now if you're not going to listen to me when I tell you to _stop burning yourself out trying to find ways to save me_, I'll be forced to kick your ass until you turn your ears on and pay attention."

Sam's breath caught in his throat.

But Dean continued, relentlessly. "We've had this discussion before, a thousand times, and you know how it goes. I wont let you solve this, because the demon made the rules quite clear; if I try to weasel my way out of our agreement, you go back to being dead. And that's not going to happen, Sammy. Not so long as I can help it. How many times do I need to tell you this?"

Sam felt anger and bile rise and his hands ball into fists.

"Go on. Hit me if you want to." Dean came to stand before his younger brother. "Whatever it takes, Sam, whatever makes you feel better, because it's killing me to see you like this. Come on, take a swing."

Sam's knuckles tingled, and, God help him, he almost did.

But he couldn't.

Exhausted, he dropped onto his bed, feeling Dean's eyes track the unmistakable sadness Sam knew was flickering across his face.

Big brother came and took as seat on the bed beside him, leaning forward and clasping hands in his lap. "For what it's worth, I'm not sorry."

Sam's tired eyes met his brother's.

"I don't regret making the deal. I don't regret bringing you back."

Sam didn't respond.

"You've got to know that, Sammy."

Sam swallowed roughly, breaking his gaze away. He knew. Of course he knew. But that didn't make it okay.

Dean waited another heartbeat, before taking a deep breath. "So what do you say, shall we go check out this mysterious house the locals claim is haunted? It's a nice distraction. Who knows, we might even get lucky and find something there."

Sam played with the thought. It was so much less than appealing. "If I say no, will you go anyway?" He already knew the answer.

Dean nodded. "Yes."

"I really don't want to go, Dean." _But I don't want you to go by yourself either._

"Come on, what's the worst that can happen?"

Again Sam gaped at his brother. "Have you gone senile? Given our history, I don't even want to answer that."

Dean grinned, his eyes flashing cheekily. "So is that a yes?"

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

tbc


	2. Chapter 2

_Oops I forgot to put a disclaimer on this: I don't own them. There we go. Here's the next bit. Thanks for reading :)_

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

****

****

****

**__**

The Witherson house turned out to have an interesting history. Built in 1930, it was once home to a very wealthy couple, Derek and Andrea Witherson, who took it upon themselves to care for a number of orphaned children. They opened their home as a 'safe haven' for kids under the age of ten, who'd been abandoned or had lost both their parents, and offered each the chance to live in a loving, family environment, as well as to go to school. Both Derek and Andrea were well-respected in the community, and over several years took in a total of seventeen children. Everything was going fine, until March, 1934, when tuberculosis- otherwise known as consumption- made its suffocating way into their happy home.

Despite advice from friends, they chose to care for their sick children themselves. It wasn't long before all seventeen were infected, and Andrea began experiencing symptoms herself. Derek cared, indefatigably, for each and every one of them. The house became a hospice, and Derek confined himself within its walls. Despite his best efforts, he lost all seventeen children. And, eventually, to his absolute despair, he lost Andrea as well.

The records regarding Derek's death were sketchy and incomplete. Some said he died of the sickness, others claimed he took his own life. Either way, he died in the house, alone and surrounded by memories. His body was found in the sun room, slumped against one of the windows. Apparently there was a crinkled note in his hand. _This house feels no joy without you_. His remains were taken to the edge of the property, where he was buried alongside his wife and their children.

Many people had claimed, since then, to have witnessed strange lights coming from upstairs windows, or to have heard the sound of laughter and music drifting on the breeze. The house was inherited by a distant relative, but no changes had been made to it in the whole seventy-odd years since the Witherson's deaths. It was a carcass of a building, rotting alone atop a hill. There was a cloud of stories and rumours surrounding it, but so far, no one had been able to separate lie from truth. That was why Dean was so anxious to get inside, and take a look for himself. Sam tried to ignore the look of excitement painted across his brother's face, as they sat in the car, staring up at the looming building.

A shiver traced its way along Sam's neck and back. It was midnight, and it was freezing. The Witherson mansion rose in archways of gaping windows, surrounded by spindly trees and overgrown gardens. It was difficult to get a feel for the sheer size of the place in the dark. But from what Sam could see, the place was sprawling; a giant's remains, crumbling in a skeleton garden. It gave him the creeps, and they hadn't even stepped inside yet.

Dean's knuckles rapped against his arm. "Yo, am I talking to myself here?"

Sam furrowed his brow.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to come help me get the stuff from the trunk? Or perhaps you'd prefer to sit here and stare out the windshield all night."

Sam's frown deepened. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was a bad idea. He'd mentioned it to Dean, but of course his sibling hadn't listened.

"You keep frowning like that," Dean stated, stepping from the car, "and those grooves in your forehead will turn to trenches."

Sam rolled his eyes, but followed his brother.

"You'll get stuff caught in them, they'll become unhygienic…"

Sam snatched his weapon as soon as Dean popped the trunk. "You finished?"

"I'm just saying…" Dean held up a hand, meeting his brother's glare. He nodded towards the building. "How long's it been since we got to check out a place like this; months, _years?_ Let's go have some fun. Compared to the stuff we've had to deal with lately, this should be a piece of cake. That is, if there's even anything here."

Sam's eyes wandered towards the ominous structure again. A damp breeze ruffled his hair, bringing with it the smell of mould and decay. His fingers tightened around the weapon in his hands. More than anything, this place was making him sad. It seemed to be surrounded by such a heavy air of loneliness. "This place hasn't seen life in years."

Dean didn't hear him. He was too busy playing with his EMF. Big brother raised his eyes, grinned, and slammed the trunk. Without further ado, he made his way towards the crumbling stone stairs.

Sam hesitated, before hurrying behind.

"It reminds me of the _Addams Family_." Dean began whistling the theme tune, the sound echoing through the darkness.

Sam pinned him with an unimpressed look as they approached the towering double front doors.

"What?" Dean aimed his flashlight into Sam's face.

Sam's face jerked and scrunched as he was momentarily blinded. "Can't you be normal for once? God-" He slapped the light away.

"I _am_ normal. You're the one who needs to lighten up."

"Just open the damned door already."

Dean snorted, amused. "Alright, alright, don't get your panties in a twist, Samantha."

Sam huffed, glancing wistfully back at the car parked under the trees. There were no words to describe how much he didn't want to be here.

There was a loud creak- worse than the Impala's doors- and Sam's attention snapped back to his brother, who had just pushed the right door of the building open.

"It wasn't locked." Dean shrugged, peering inside. "Perhaps they were expecting us?"

A stale breath of air raced through the opening and assaulted Sam's nose. Dean's flashlight was directed into the entry, its beam dancing across a shiny marble floor.

Big brother's eyes glinted enthusiastically. "Wow, this place is incredible."

Sam cautiously followed him in, stopping just inside the doorway.

Together, their flashlight beams illuminated a foyer larger than that of most hotels, with a grand wooden staircase complete with red carpet, and a four-foot wide chandelier suspended above its middle.

"I feel slightly under-dressed," Dean commented, tracing his light along the ornate banister and following it skywards towards the floors above. He held the EMF before him, turning in a wide circle, but the home-made contraption remained silent.

Sam took a few steps to the left, peering down a long, dark corridor. "This place is gigantic. I vote we split up."

"What, so we can get our asses kicked if it turns out there's something still living here?"

"_No_. So we can cover more ground, and preferably leave before morning."

Dean shook his head firmly. "Nu-uh. No way. We stick together, Sammy."

"But-"

"Hello, are you crazy? It's not an argument. I'm not going to let you wander around by yourself."

"Oh for God's sake, I'm not five."

"I said we're not arguing about this." Dean's voice suddenly sounded like their father's.

Sam stepped back a little, wondering at how quickly Dean had become so serious.

Big brother composed himself, relaxing his shoulders, possibly picking up on Sam's reaction. "Let's just… start from the top and work our way down, check each floor thoroughly."

"Why not start from here, and work our way up?" Sam swallowed his annoyance, realizing he was picking at a fight he had no chance of winning.

"Because, Sam," Dean replied. "People have supposedly seen lights coming from the _upstairs_ windows."

"Yeah, well, people are stupid." Sam's left index finger flexed against the button of his flashlight, jerky and irritable.

Dean shot him a look. "Just humour me, alright. Quit being so stubborn for a change, it's not going to kill you."

_No, dying as a result of stubbornness is your job, remember? _Sam met his brother's gaze briefly, before looking away. Words rose to press against his teeth, but he refused to let them out.

Dean took his silence as acquiescence and nodded, satisfied. He turned to walk towards the stairs. "I'd like to find the room Derek supposedly died in," he commented over his shoulder. "I have a hunch it could be up there somewhere."

Sam stole a moment, his eyes settling on Dean's back.

Dean spun around, infernally aware, as always, of the fact that his younger brother wasn't following him.

Sam took a deep breath. He still couldn't believe Dean classed this as 'fun'.

"You need an invitation, Sammy?"

Sam wearily shook his head. No, no invite necessary.

"I'm fine," he mumbled, closing the distance between himself and his sibling. A part of him could imagine how Mr. Witherson must have felt; tormented and afraid, helpless as his family had died around him.

_We have a lot in common_, Sam thought sadly, feeling his own burden relating to the loss of his family ache within him.

Dean took the lead by a few paces, distributing their weight more evenly upon the creaking stairs. "At least, if there are any weak spots, you'll be the first to know because you're heavier, Sammy."

"Don't even joke about that," the younger rebuked, stepping a little closer to the banister and trying not to notice how much noise the stairs were actually making. "If it's weak enough, you'll be the one to fall."

Dean chuckled, unfazed.

Sam glared, mildly incensed and slightly more nervous. "And by the way, it's _Sam_."

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

They climbed. They climbed for what seemed like forever. Five floors, Sam counted, though the top floor was nothing more than a handful of bedrooms. They wandered around, sweeping their flashlights over dusty beds and old toy chests. But despite the strange chills that continuously crawled over the exposed skin on Sam's neck, the EMF remained silent, and neither brother noticed any supernatural activity. The building was deathly quiet, and as they made their way back towards the fourth floor to try their luck there, Sam suspected, again, that this expedition was a waste of time. He went to grumble his thoughts to his brother, to express his feelings that perhaps they should turn back. But something grabbed his attention, forcing him to stop dead in his tracks.

"What is it?" Dean was on him in an instant.

Sam held up a hand. "Can you hear that?" He whispered.

They held their breaths, listening.

"It's music." Dean confirmed, as he made out the sound rising from somewhere beneath them.

"It's Pachelbel's _Canon_," Sam corrected, following his brother back towards the stairs.

Dean threw a look over his shoulder. "I don't care what it's called, Sam, I just want to know who the hell's making it."

_Or 'what'_, Sam thought, anxiously tightening his grip on his weapon.

Dean took the stairs two at a time, while Sam did his best to ignore the creaking as they rushed towards the third floor.

Big brother paused at the bottom, EMF swinging left and right, trying to pin-point where the music was coming from. "This way," he decided, hurrying down a hallway to their left.

Sam followed, and they came to a halt outside a closed door.

Dean's brows knotted in concentration. "I swear it was coming from here, but now I think it's stopped."

"Only one way to find out," Sam said, reaching for the handle.

The door was pushed open, and both brothers blinked into a dark, cavernous room. A sweep with their flashlights revealed a grand piano, hunched lonely in a corner. They approached, ready for action. But they were met with nothing but silence.

Sam nodded towards the EMF. "You sure that thing's working?"

"Of course it's working," Dean argued, running it over the keys. "It's just…" He shook his head. "It's just not picking up on anything…"

"Okay, that's weird," Sam said. "Perhaps there's another piano, in another room?"

"Who owns two pianos, Sam?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. It seems they were pretty rich though." His flashlight caught on the face of a man and a woman in a portrait and he jumped.

Dean's flashlight arced to join in illuminating the painting. "Wow. Looks like you've found Derek and Andrea."

Sam studied the sharp line of the man's jaw, and the soft blush of the woman's cheeks. Their faces were expressionless, as was the case with most old paintings. "At least we know what they look like, in case we run into them."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, that's if we run into anything at all tonight."

Sam almost felt bad, sensing his brother's disappointment.

"Man, I really wanted to shoot something!" Dean's voice echoed, bouncing off the walls.

Sam cringed from the noise, throwing an uncertain look towards his brother. "Because that'll make them want to come out," he commented gingerly.

Dean huffed, swinging the EMF around in another wide circle.

"I do think there might be something here, Dean," Sam admitted. "But I'm not sure that it warrants shooting."

"You having another one of your _sensitive_ moments, Sammy? I'm really not in the mood."

Little brother let the comment pass. "I just-" He didn't know why he was bothering, but he continued anyway. "I think that if there was something sinister in this house, it would've tried to hurt us already."

"It assaulted our ears."

At Sam's confused brow-crinkle, Dean elaborated. "I _hate_ classical."

Sam's brow crinkled more.

"Or packa-whatever-the-hell-you-called-it." His finger snapped up. "I'm telling you, stop frowning at me. You'll damage your forehead."

"Let's just go check out the rest of this floor." Sam's tone was even, patient, and infuriatingly calm.

It caught Dean off-guard, and the older stood, gaping for a moment.

Of course, Sam really wanted to go back to the motel room and spend his time doing something useful, like more research. But if he started whinging now, he'd never hear the end of it. _Bite the bullet_, he told himself.

Dean nodded, obviously having churned over the suggestion and deciding it was alright. "Okay. Let's check the rest of this floor then."

Sam rolled his eyes, hand still firmly wrapped around his weapon. It was a pretty awesome building. It wouldn't be so bad to see a couple more of the rooms. He only wished he could gain a bird's eye perspective, because it felt as though the house branched off in many directions. A couple of times he'd glanced out a window, impressed to see rooftops rising and falling beneath them. It wasn't a straight, square structure; it was a spider, with many legs. And each leg was a corridor, stretching to goodness knew where.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

They were sweeping what appeared to be another child's bedroom when it happened. The EMF suddenly sparked to life, startling both boys because they'd become so accustomed to the silence. Dean had his gun ready, desperately attempting to aim it at something. Sam's eyes sifted through the darkness, but his gun and flashlight found nothing.

"Come on," Dean coaxed hopefully, barely containing his excitement.

Something bumped against the heel of Sam's boot, and a child's laughter chimed like distorted bells from somewhere down the hall.

Sam shifted his feet, eyes catching on what appeared to be a small, red ball, rolling back into the corridor. He followed its path with the beam of his flashlight.

"Sam-?" Big brother followed, looking confused. "What is it?"

Sam watched the ball curve to the left, and quickened his pace to keep up with it.

Dean's voice was now anxious in his ear. "What are you doing? Sam-?"

But Sam didn't want to lose sight of the object.

The EMF continued to scream, and the chime-like laugh kissed at Sam's ears again. "It's a ball," he explained. "Can't you see it?"

But Dean's gun waved back and forth, locking onto nothing. "Sam, there's nothing there-"

But Sam had no doubts as to what he was seeing. The ball picked up speed, and the younger brother began to jog.

"Sam-?!"

"Don't slow down, we need to follow it!"

Sam heard the anxiety in his sibling's voice, but now that he'd started the chase, he couldn't stop. His footfalls were heavy, and the old wooden floor creaked and groaned. The ball was almost within reach.

There was an ear-splitting crack.

Sam felt his left foot break the fragile boards beneath him, and his right foot did the rest of the damage, removing the ground completely.

Sam pitched forward, legs already through the gap and arms shooting out. He attempted to grab onto something, but was cut and scraped by the splintered boards instead.

He lost sight of the ball. He heard Dean gasp and call his name. Stunned and winded, Sam dropped into darkness, falling for what seemed like forever and losing his stomach in the process.

With a bone-fracturing jolt, he hit the floor below.

A strangled breath escaped his bloody lips, and then blessedly, he felt no more.

sssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

_Real life can be such a pain in the ass sometimes! Haha, every now and then I think I'd prefer to live in a bubble. Thanks for reading, here's the next bit. Almost done. Ta :)_

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

****

****

****

The first sound to meet Sam's ears was whispering. It rose in a confusing wave of disjointed sentences and intermittent giggling, before fading again, returning him to the silent dark. He was hovering just beneath the surface of consciousness, kicking hard to break through to reality and battling not to be sucked further down. He was aware of his body, but felt strangely separated from it. The whispering came again, along with the giggling. Slowly, as if emerging from water, he began to regain his senses and managed to crack open an eye.

Warm light surrounded him, and a little girl reached a curious hand to poke him in the shoulder, her touch causing him to jump.

At his sudden reaction, she burst into bell-like laughter. Her porcelain face lit up and her crystal eyes went wide. Loose ringlets bobbed around her ears, the darkest ginger Sam had ever seen. Freckles peppered her nose, and her grin was made all the more adorable by her lack of front teeth. She looked to be no more than six or seven. Sam's gaze flicked from her to the room around them, and he blinked at the sunlight streaming through the windows.

There were children, everywhere; running, playing games, dancing or reading books.

Sam was leaning against a wall, and he pulled himself into more of a sitting position as he observed the lively scene before him, unable to keep from wondering what the hell was going on.

"You're funny," the little girl beamed, gasping with unspent laughter.

Sam wanted to smile at the comic expression painted across her face, but he was a little disturbed by the fact that he couldn't remember how he'd got here. He'd been… chasing a ball? Why didn't his memories make sense?

He glanced around the room again, searching for his brother. They'd been checking out an old house. He'd been running, and… he'd fallen through the floor. Was that how he'd ended up here?

The little girl's hand found his shoulder, and Sam was astounded at the warmth radiating from her touch.

"I saw that you were broken," she explained simply. "But father says that all things broken can be fixed in time. They just need a bit of sun, and a lot of love."

Sam didn't know what she was on about.

"And games, andlaughter." She held up a red ball, her big eyes burning bright.

Sam hastily patted his legs and chest. Was he injured? Was that what she meant by broken?

The panic on his face must've been hilarious, because it set her off laughing again.

"_No_, silly-billy!" she shrieked, highly amused as he checked himself over.

Depositing herself in his lap, she grabbed his hand and gently laid it upon his chest. "I meant that I saw you were broken in here."

Sam felt his muffled heartbeat vibrating against his fingers.

"Something's hurting," she held her small palm against the back of his hand long enough for some of her warmth seep into him. "There's a big black hole, and you need to fix it."

Sam was at a loss for words.

"Why would anybody want a big black hole living inside of them?" She cocked her head to the side, the wide, toothless grin again gracing her features.

"I… I don't know," he replied honestly, because it appeared she was waiting for an answer. "Perhaps I need it there." He pulled his hand away.

"You _don't _need it!" She corrected sternly, untangling herself from her many-layered dress as she stood up and regarded him.

There was truth in her eyes and far too much wisdom in her face. "You just think you do, because you've got so used to having it there. But if you find your happy thoughts and put them there instead, the darkness will go away."

Sam raised a suspicious eyebrow. "My _happy thoughts_?"

"You know," she prompted, as if she believed he already knew the answer but was playing dumb. "The things that make you smile. The things you love most in the world."

Sam considered this a moment. "Everything I love most in the world is dying, or already dead."

She fixed him with a startlingly serious stare. "So you're going to keep the black hole then?"

Sam shook his head, breaking their gazes. Who was this girl anyway? "I don't know that there's much else I can do, quite frankly."

"That's nonsense, and you know it." She leaned very close to his face, her features once again cracking into a grin. "I see it within you, it's only small, but it's there."

Sam really wasn't sure what she was on about. He pulled away.

She laughed, reaching out a hand and again placing it upon his shoulder. "Hope starts as a very small light, in a very big, dark place, Sam."

That got his attention. "How do you know my name?"

She ignored his question. "You have hope inside you, even though you don't know it yet. You want to help your brother, but it's important that you look after yourself, too. Don't become so broken that you can't be fixed." She nodded vigorously. "That's good advice. I suggest you take it."

Sam was still caught on the fact that she also knew Dean. "How do you know about my brother?"

"Sometimes the answers we're seeking are right in front of us," she continued, still grinning. "Don't close yourself off from them. Give them a chance to find you."

Sam's head was spinning. "You're not making sense."

"And take a moment, every now and then-" She placed the red ball in his lap. "- to stop and remember what it was, exactly, that gave you hope enough to start fighting in the first place."

"What?" Sam took the ball in his hands, his vision beginning to swim and blur around the edges. The sunlight coming through the windows grew brighter until it swallowed everything. "It's not that simple," he whispered.

But the little girl just flashed another radiant grin, before she disappeared.

Her answer came as an echo in his ear a moment later. "Yes, Sam, it is."

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

_Crack!_

Sam's eyes snapped open and his lungs screamed for air that wasn't there. A couple of heartbeats passed before he recalled how to breathe again, and he realized he was slumped against his brother's chest in a very cold, dark place; a complete contrast to the room he'd just been in.

Dean wrestled him back into a sitting position, and Sam felt pain spike through his chest and head.

"Sam, hey- Sam, look at me-"

Sam struggled to do as he was told, Dean's calloused hands guiding his wandering stare as they clutched either side of his face.

"I need you to stay calm, okay?"

Sam didn't like the way his sibling's words trembled. He tried to speak.

"It's okay. You just had a bit of a fall-" Dean's left arm snaked its way around the younger man's waist, his right hand falling upon the slumped shoulder. "This is gonna hurt a bit, Sammy, but we've got to get you out of here. You dislocated your shoulder-" He repositioned himself for a better grip. "- but I put it back. Looks like you've done your ankle too-"

Sam hissed in pain as Dean began to lift him from the ground, white hot agony tearing up his lungs and causing him to violently gasp.

"And possibly some ribs-"

Sam leaned heavily upon his brother, his weight nearly driving them both back to the ground.

"Come on Sam, give me a little help here-"

Sam tried his best to get his good leg under him.

"You've been living off nothing but air for the past couple of weeks, yet you're still freakishly heavy-" Dean grunted, guiding them over rubble-covered floor towards a great, gaping doorway. "Or perhaps you've been munching pages out of your books when I haven't been looking?"

Sam was too busy concentrating on staying conscious to respond to his brother's comments. His vision swayed back and forth and he couldn't help thinking that the room they were exiting looked strangely familiar.

"Sam? C'mon, man, talk to me. I need you to stay awake. Don't make me haul your ass all the way to the car, it'll kill me."

Sam's eyes traced the outlines of dusty reading chairs and high, arched windows. For a moment he felt the memory of sunlight warming his skin. "There were children here," he gasped. "They were playing. They were…" For a moment he couldn't find the right word. "They were… happy."

"What?" Dean's grip tightened as Sam stumbled.

Sam hated the fact that he couldn't get enough air. "I saw them." His voice grated against the back of his throat. "There was a little girl, and she had a red ball…"

In the near-darkness Dean's eyes flashed with more than a hint of concern for his obviously delirious brother. He guided Sam through the doorway and towards the staircase.

Sam tried to glance over his shoulder as they left the room. "Don't you want to go see? I found you some ghosts, Dean. There were heaps of them."

"I'd rather just get out of here," the older brother admitted through clenched teeth as the effort of supporting his brother began to wear on him.

Sam noticed the tenseness in Dean's tone. "I thought you wanted to hunt something?"

The first step of the staircase almost got the better of them as Sam accidentally put weight on his bad ankle, buckling his knees and tearing an agonized cry from his throat.

In a tangle of arms and elbows, Dean managed to stop them both from going down. "You okay?"

Sam's knuckles were white as he gripped the banister, his breathing erratic and his head threatening to spin right off his shoulders as he battled to stay conscious. "Dizzy-" His felt his knees tremble and he slowly began to sink towards the stairs. "God-" He suddenly felt overwhelmed.

"Whoa- hey-" Dean was pulling him up again. "No passing out. Sam? Sammy-?"

Dean was being a pain in the ass. Sam grunted, unimpressed.

Dean's voice swam close to his ear. "Just a little way to go and we'll be at the car. Then we can get the hell out of here."

"Mfine."

There was a strained laugh. It took Sam a moment to realize it came from his brother.

"What?" He couldn't quite make out Dean's expression, but he felt his sibling staring at him.

"You're like a broken record, Sammy."

Sam allowed himself to be manoeuvred carefully to the next step, and then one step more.

"Always with the same response, no matter what the situation."

Dean's steady grip was the only thing keeping Sam upright.

Sam wanted to argue, but his scattered brain wouldn't allow him to form the words. Instead, his mind did something completely annoying, and reminded him again of the fact that with every passing second, he was losing his brother a little bit more. A new pain flared in his chest, independent of the other pains wreaking havoc throughout his body. The little girl was right; there was a hole inside of him. He tightened his grip on his sibling.

"I know you're not fine, Sam," Dean grunted, taking a little more of his brother's weight.

Sam closed his eyes, just for a moment.

"By the way, I'm taking you to the hospital."

Sam's eyes snapped open. "No- no hospitals-" He suppressed another pain-filled gasp. "I'm okay."

"You're _not_. And if that ankle's broken, I don't think I can fix it."

"It's _fine _Dean-"

"If you say that once more I swear to God-"

Sam jerked to a halt, pulling hard on his brother's sleeve. He wanted so badly to tell Dean that he'd never lied, all the times he'd ever said he was fine, because he'd believed that Dean would take care of him. But now his throat worked soundlessly and the words were lost before they'd even reached his tongue. He leaned hard against the banister, out of breath and panting.

"Sam?" Dean's eyes narrowed as he tried to read the expression painted across the younger man's face.

Sam swallowed thickly, shaking his head. "No hospitals," he repeated quietly. "No hospitals. Dean, please…Let's just go back to the motel." Bile rose in his throat and he swayed dangerously.

This time Dean didn't lend a helping hand. The older just watched, silently judging his sibling's condition.

Sam managed to keep from toppling forwards, although he still clung for dear life to the banister.

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "You're such a stubborn bastard."

Sam was trembling. "And you're a hypocrite."

The older brother's eyebrows rose slightly at the comment.

Sam took a very shaky step, ignoring the blinding pain that continued to pulse through his body. He slipped, but didn't fall.

Dean's hand shot out to steady him. "Okay, you've proved your point, you're very tough-"

Sam masked the fact that he was now seeing three Deans wobbling before him. "No hospitals-"

"If you can make it to the car without passing out, I'll think about it."

Sam grunted his acceptance of the challenge, determined to do whatever it would take.

Suddenly the chandelier hanging above the foyer two floors down flared to life, startling them both as it threw light and shadows up the walls and over the creaking stairs.

Dean's weapon was drawn in an instant, swinging about them, seeking a definite target but finding none.

There was the sound of an object bouncing past them down the stairs and the unmistakable echo of a child's laughter.

Dean's gun followed it, but still nothing appeared. "Okay…" he said uncertainly.

Sam closed his eyes, recalling the image of a girl with ginger hair and lively eyes. "Let's just go, Dean," he suggested quietly.

The older hunter remained tense with his gun still aimed at nothing. A heartbeat passed, before he hesitantly nodded, and helped Sam tackle the steps again.

It took them a good ten minutes before they made it to the ground floor, but nothing tried to harm them, and Sam stayed conscious. When they arrived at the front door they found it wide open, with Sam's weapon and broken flashlight resting against it.

Dean knelt to scoop them up, casting a curious look at his brother but saying nothing.

Sam just shrugged, wrapping a shaky arm around his middle and leaning against the doorway. In the reflection of the brass handle he noticed a third figure standing behind them; a little girl with a porcelain face.

Sam didn't turn around. His head was spinning. "Let's get out of here," he said.

Dean didn't argue with him, and they made their unsteady way back out into the night.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

Dean didn't take Sam to the hospital. Perhaps it was because the younger had been stubborn enough to make it to the car before he'd passed out, or the fact that, upon resurfacing to consciousness ten minutes later, Sam had continued to argue that he didn't want to go. Either way, Sam was grateful, and as they approached their mouldy motel room he couldn't help but think that it was the sweetest thing he'd ever seen. He all but collapsed through the door, aiming his stumbling in the general direction of his bed. Dean's steadying hands came out of nowhere to lower him onto the mattress.

"Drugs," Sam groaned. "Please- God, it hurts…"

That pulled a small amount of amusement from the older. "I wouldn't say that too loud, Sammy. There could be people in the next room. These walls are thin."

Sam didn't care. His forehead came to rest against his brother's shoulder as Dean helped him shrug out of his jacket and shirt.

"Let's have a better look at those ribs." Dean's cold fingers walked along Sam's bruised and swollen skin.

Sam inhaled sharply, despite the fact that the touch was gentle.

"You've really done a number on yourself." Dean pulled him forward to get a better look around the back. "You know you gave me a heart attack when you fell through that floor."

Dean's voice was coming in pieces, and Sam's hearing was fading in and out. "Sam takes on the haunted house," the younger drawled. "Sam takes on the haunted house, and wins."

There was a snort from beside him. "Yeah, well, you got lucky this time." Dean manoeuvred himself so that he was crouched down in front of his sibling, his steadying hands still clamped upon Sam's shoulders.

Sam was beginning to shake from exhaustion, and found it difficult to keep his brother's face in focus.

"You need to promise me you'll be more careful, Sam."

There was something in Dean's tone that sounded a little too final for Sam's liking. He shrugged away.

"You need to promise me that when I'm gone, you'll look after yourself."

Sam closed his eyes. There were no words for how much he didn't want to be hearing this.

Dean continued to stare at him. "C'mon, man, I'm being serious. Don't make me worry from beyond the grave."

Sam swallowed roughly, his eyes peeling open. Slowly he shook his head.

Dean's stare intensified.

"I can't promise you something like that," the younger finally admitted. "And it's not fair to ask me to." His head began to spin again. "Especially not when…" The room jerked sideways.

Dean caught him as he nearly toppled from the bed.

Sam gulped down uneven breaths, trying to steady himself. "Not when…" He was going to pass out again.

Dean said something, but it completely missed Sam's ears.

Sam clawed at reality, determined to hold onto it. Finally the sentence he'd been trying to finish slipped its way over his parched lips. "Not when I have no intention of letting you go." He slumped completely into his brother's arms, squeezing his eyes closed and feeling an increasing sense of weightlessness.

Dean began to argue; his usual chain of _We've been through this before, Sam._

But Sam blocked the poor excuses out. "Mnot listening," he groaned, slipping further away and mentally turning his back on his brother. "You can' make me."

There was an irritated sigh, and Dean mumbled something under his breath.

Sam grabbed a tuft of his sibling's leather jacket and wound it around his hand, holding on stubbornly.

A moment passed, in which Sam felt every breath that leaped into and out of his brother's lungs.

Eventually Dean's rough hand settled gently against the back of his head; comforting and reassuring.

Sam stole a heartbeat to absorb the warmth of the touch.

"You're a pain in the ass, Sammy."

Sam nodded, before ungracefully passing out again.

ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

_Just a very small ending..._

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

They stayed in the nameless town. They stayed for a week, while Sam recovered. Dean hung out in the room most of the time, but every now and then the older would start climbing the walls and would have to get out. Sam lived for those moments. As much as he loved his brother, he treasured the times he was left alone. As soon as the Impala would pull out of the motel car park, Sam would be out of his bed and burning away the hours at their laptop, researching. He didn't care what Dean said, nor how many times the older said it. He would find a way to break the demon's deal. Or, God help him, he'd die trying. _Preferably not the latter_, he thought, though if it came to it, he wouldn't hesitate. If it came to it, of course, there'd be nothing Dean, nor anyone, would be able to do to stop him.

Sam's physical wounds began to heal. His ankle wasn't broken, which was good news because it meant there was no real need to find a hospital. The drugs worked, most of the time, keeping the pain at bay, but when they didn't Sam managed to put on a brave enough face to avoid too much mothering from his brother. He was scratched and scraped, and each day found a new splinter in one of his arms or legs. The thing giving him the most grief was the swelling around a few of his ribs, which had turned the skin on his right side a brilliant collection of purples and blues, drawing his attention every time he had to undertake the painful task of having a shower and accidentally caught his reflection in the mirror. It looked positively dreadful.

Over all, Sam was technically okay. As far as Dean could see, his little brother was making progress. What Dean didn't know, however, was that as the days rolled by, Sam was growing more and more frustrated. Being forced to stay indoors and having nothing else to do but mull over thoughts regarding Dean's possibly unavoidable death was beginning to take its toll on the younger, and by the end of the week, the lack of answers Sam's secret research had turned up had quite sufficiently added to the constant thrum of anxiety dwelling within him. It built up and up, until five o'clock one particularly sunny afternoon while Dean was out, when Sam decided he'd had enough and jerked the front door of the motel room open, bursting forth from its confines.

The late afternoon glared at him, and Sam didn't hesitate to glare back. Hobbling slightly, he made his way towards a bench a few feet away and dropped heavily upon it, rubbing the space between his eyes and massaging his aching forehead. He was exhausted, yet decent sleep continued to elude him. Each night he'd woken at least a dozen times, wrapped in his sheets, sweating and worrying, churning over thoughts until they made even less sense than they had originally. The black hole within him was growing. It didn't seem to matter how hard he tried to ignore it, it kept on expanding. He felt like a piece of bruised fruit, rotting from the inside out. _The little girl was right_, he thought miserably. He couldn't understand how a spirit, who'd had such terrible things happen to her during her short life, could be so happy and content. And how could she have seen through him so thoroughly?

Across the road from the motel there was a forest. Its canopy was thick and green, and Sam watched as the sun descended below the tops of the tallest trees. Rays stretched like fingers towards him, picking up the cobwebs in the long grass surrounding the car park. He could smell somebody's dinner cooking, and the sweet, sharp scent of wood fires flavouring the air. He closed his eyes, savouring the serenity. It reminded him of the warmth he'd felt in the room he'd fallen into at the Witherson house. It made him sad, because it was so perfect. Couldn't time just stop for a moment? Couldn't the second hand on the clock that ticked incessantly in his ear be stilled, just for a heartbeat?

No. Sam realized it couldn't.

_Sometimes the answers we're seeking are right in front of us_. The little girl's voice still rang in the back of his mind. Sam's eyelids climbed open, and he stared blearily at the tufty grass bobbing in the slight breeze. Perhaps the key to happiness lay in the acceptance of any given situation; being aware of what could be done to change things, being comfortable with the fact that some things couldn't be changed. Sam thought about all the things in his life that hadn't turned out the way he'd hoped, and the guilt that he'd carried as a result of them. How he wished he could let that guilt go. No doubt it would help him to see more clearly. He knew there were things in his heart that were eating him alive, and that trying to save his brother was just one item on a long list of grievances he believed he'd caused others, and was determined to set right. What had the little girl said, that hope starts as a very small light?

Sam raised his eyes to the sun's rays stretching through the trees, letting his vision slip out of focus as he contemplated the child's words. There were so many reasons to worry, though, so many reasons to be afraid. He thought about his brother. He thought about the obstacles they were facing. He thought about how often things seemed so ridiculously hopeless, and how helpless he felt, because he was only one man. Finding a reason to keep fighting was sometimes like trying to clear path in a sandstorm.

_You have hope inside you, even though you don't know it yet._

Perhaps, he thought absently, if he found his light and stared at it, it would expand just like the sun's rays, and he'd eventually see nothing else.

He almost laughed. It wasn't that simple.

There was a sudden breath like a kiss upon his cheek. It warmed his skin and seeped right into him.

He raised a hand and brushed at the spot, mildly startled.

In a strange moment of deja vu, he heard a very small voice whisper, "Yes, Sam, it is."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

_Ta for reading :) Take care_


End file.
